


Pondering the Many Images of a Named Man

by Starlight_Adventurer



Series: OP Admirals Week 2020 [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Historical AU, Hopeful Ending, Set during the time of the Witch Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlight_Adventurer/pseuds/Starlight_Adventurer
Summary: Day 5: Party || Historical AUTo see a blind man travelling on his lonesome, truly a sight for these troubled times of accusation and fears.To see a blind man with a monstrous shell of a man at his side, well that was no less normal but somehow more tragic in this time of ours.Part of One Piece Admirals Week 2020
Series: OP Admirals Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923490
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: One Piece Admirals Week 2020





	Pondering the Many Images of a Named Man

**Author's Note:**

> More Zephyr! Really fell in love with this guy this week!
> 
> Issho is a sweet heart and I adored writing from his perspective!
> 
> Hopefully you guys will like this!

Every step a person takes sounds different.

For each time a person’s foot makes contact with the ground, it creates a unique moment. The sound, the feel of the underfoot terrain, the earth’s reaction to the unexpected force being placed upon it by a creature inconsiderate of it due to its ignorance, all of these can only occur once during a person’s lifetime.

Does that mean that every step we take is important, to consider each with such reverence? Issho wasn’t so sure; he did, however, consider the answer as his foot crossed the threshold into another settlement. This moment was marked with the characteristic change from the perpetually blanket of crunchy, dry leaves that covered the forest and the flat, dusty burned dirt which was meant to act as a symbol of human control over nature. Not that he ever doubted that the people living within the settlement’s borders held superstitious fear for the woods around them. And if they didn’t? Well, Issho had also come across many instances where the stolen ground had been reclaimed by its original owner.

Aside from his own consistent steps, the metronome-like rhythmic knocking of his wooden cane as it hit the ground was his only companion. Issho often compared its sound to the music he would hear at harvest celebrations, it acted as the mallet to the drum of the earth.

The journey’s song was eventually interrupted by the bustle of an early morning village street. It was its own melody; each layer of the symphony played in unison, several overlaid beating footfalls chorused with the mixing lyrics of greetings and cries of a town market, so they were indistinguishable from each other.

Issho kept his gait uninterrupted, continuing forward on his journey into this unknown territory, while he took in the auditory ‘sights’ of the village around him. It was almost entirely mundane, average to the point he could have mistaken for a place he had already visited on his travels, until many of the song’s layers quieted to a very telling halt.

So they had noticed him; it took them less time than most to pick out a stranger in their crowd of neighbours. Perhaps he had worn something bright without realising. Issho outwardly smiled at the prospect of himself doing just that, the idea of an oddly dressed mysterious traveller seemed like something out of an interesting story, and stopped his forward motion to join the silence that had soon smothered the area.

Without sound, he wondered how they expected him to find, much less greet, any of them. However, that question was answered for him by the thumping steps of a heavy set individual. Lighter, meeker, footsteps scurried away from this singular beat in a way that Issho found most telling about the source of them. A Nobleman? The village’s Mayor? Perhaps, a very rare sight in this age of accusation towards the spiritual, a town wise man?

“Another one of you is there? Thought we had run the other one out of town proper by now, but of course he had to call for more of you heathens,” the individual, a man if he had to guess from the deepness of his voice and the supposed authority his tone took in this surprise interaction. He spoke with a nasally, unpleasant voice that Issho found to be like mud on his eardrums. The man’s word, on the other hand, did pique his interest.

‘The other one’...

It was a curious phrase, with or without context; Issho still smiled, even in light of the hint of accusation that trailed behind the other characteristics of his new acquaintance’s tone, when he answered, “I can’t say that I know of whom you speak, but I’m always glad to make the acquaintance of anyone that would have me. Might I count yourself as one of those people?”

The man scoffed, “As if I, Chief Justice, would consort with someone who associates with a known witch. You have a lot of nerve suggesting that I would lend my ear to such heinous individuals.” His voice grew into a yell. However, some of the aggression was lost on Issho as it sounded as if the action put the man out of breath; it was always interesting to him how much you could tell about a person by how they greeted others around them - especially strangers.

A stranger he may be, Issho never saw a reason to dislike a person without getting to know a bit about them. Therefore, he found himself unpleasantly surprised over the pace of escalation the current conversation had been subject to. It had also had a negative effect on the atmosphere, if Issho was reading the pressure in the air that had grown to the point it was stifling and uncomfortable against his skin.

Issho sighed.

He supposed there was nothing to be done to change the opinion of the man in front of him. From the various men he had met who carried the, usually self-appointed, title of ‘Chief Justice’ he knew them to be judgemental, suspicious and quick to anger, personality traits that Issho found to be incompatible with his own demeanour. 

Although, this third party individual the Chief Justice had so angrily mentioned might offer something in the way of a more enjoyable welcome. No harm in trying, Issho suggested as much aloud and was met with a haughty laugh, “I considered you saying as much! You sinners are all the same. I won’t let you bring God’s wrath down on these good people, so just leave while we still let you. Return to the forest like the rest of your kind.” The last word was spat with enough venom that Issho would have assumed that the man was trying to poison the air itself with his disdain.

“Then maybe you could direct me towards this person’s place of residence, so that I can leave these ‘good people’ alone,” Issho suggested with a smile. He hoped that the sarcastic lilt of his voice that threaded through some of his words would be lost on the man trying to talk down to him.

Then came his answer in the form of another group of heavy set steps.

They were purposeful, if not a little slow, as they grew closer. The lack of additional shuffling spoke volumes about whomever was making their way towards the commotion; it meant that they avoided people or people avoided them, entirely asocial in a time when such behaviour would be cause to be put on trial for ‘communing with Satan’ while alone. Coupled with the accusation of witchcraft pitted against this stranger, Issho concluded that they would be an interesting person to become acquaintances with.

The gait of the person’s walk caught Issho’s interest. It was minutely offbeat. Like a broken clock, the steps ticked by one after another but the gaps between them were inconsistent in a way that Issho knew there was something to it.

When they stopped a few feet behind the man in front of him, a swish of thick fabric followed the last thump of dense soles, Issho had a gut feeling he was about to meet ‘the witch’ of this quaint village. “Chief Justice, nice weather this morning. Your god must be working extra hard to make up for your presence,” a man’s deep voice chuckled with disdain.

“So you admit to not believing in our God, seething Judas,” the Chief Justice countered through clenched teeth.

“He is not my god, not anymore. Your choices are yours, mine are my own, we shall leave it as that,” came the smooth reply. The note of finality in his voice left no room for argument.

Issho already liked this man.

“Then I suggest you make the choice to take your coven mate away from us,” was the spiteful agreement sent his way.

“Coven mate?” The mystery man mumbled under his breath. Issho could recognise the tone of someone in confused thought a mile away. Then there was a short lived sweep of fabric before a sound of revelation passed through the still air.

“Oh.”

\---

Z’s house was pleasant. It was warm, cozy and had at least one comfy chair - which Issho was sitting in. Issho also noticed how it smelled much like the forest, of sweet, soft breezes and newly fallen dewdrops, in favour of the typical flavours of indoor air that reeked of human occupation.

Their introduction had been short, if not incredibly telling of the other man’s personality, with the man begrudgingly ushering a total stranger away from the crowd of villagers. Issho wasn’t sure if Z had done it for his sake or for self focused reasons; either way, the atmosphere of the man’s home was far more enjoyable than the positivity void the village street had become in his presence.

“So, we have gotten past the part where we tell each other our names. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, witch?” Z propositioned in a serious voice.

Issho also thought Z’s voice was pleasant. On the one hand it was gravelly and worn from tiredness or age, but it had a gentleness to it that reminded him of a mentor. It was a voice that could tell a lot of stories about the man that owned it.

“Funny you should say that, I could ask you something similar, witch,” Issho countered lightly, his tone changing to mimic the other man’s for the last word.

Refreshingly, Z chose to laugh at his comment. He leant back on his chair, an action signified by the wooden creak of said furniture and the floorboards, and clarified, “I should have been more specific. Why are you here to see me?” Issho heard the recognisable sound of tapping against the arm of a chair as the fingers of Z’s hand rolled in tandem. The other didn’t give him a chance to answer before he added, “I am not in the mood for games.”

It was then Issho’s turn to laugh. He quieted his verbal amusement when the tapping stopped before he answered, “There may have been a mistake on someone’s part. I entered this village this morning on a whim, I have no prior knowledge of your existence. This is the first time we have met, that I can remember.” For his own amusement, he quickly went on, “And I think I would consider you quite memorable.”

“What could a blind man find so recognisable about a person? A person’s voice can be mimicked after all. Unless... You can see,” Z accused.

Issho was right about his new companion being interesting as well. Most would find it a taboo subject, to question a blind man about his sight, but Z seemed to be a very tactless man - something that could also be the mark of an honest man.

“You would be correct about your observation of my lack of sight,” Issho answered. Z huffed, settling into his chair, and drew in a breath to speak. “It’s your gait. It’s… Different,” he concluded carefully. He wasn’t sure how much information would be too much for the man in front of him. People found it easy to underestimate people who they felt were missing something they had, like money, love or the ability to see a morning’s sunrise. “There is something about you that is different.”

Z’s mood took a nosedive when he asked the inculpatory question of, “Different? How much can you know about a person without ever seeing them?”

Issho had hit a nerve. Something old but still raw, the word ‘different’ was a barely healed wound that stained part of Z’s life red, blue and purple. A rephrase was in order, “Perhaps you are missing something too.”

A telling silence followed his clarification. Neither man moved on their chair, adding to the sound vacuum that had formed between them, and Issho wondered if Z had somehow soundlessly dropped dead in his seat with how unnoticable his breathing was.

Then Z started laughing. It was in no way a mirthful noise; the laugh was dark and underlined with a promise of an action fueled by an even darker intent. It was the joy of a man who had lost something beyond the physical abnormality Issho had ascertained from his footsteps. Could it even be described as ‘joy’ when the vocalisation was stirred on by an inner pain?

The man’s laughter trickled off to a deep chuckle, in which he commented, “You are observant.” There was a pause filled by the shuffling of a heavy, mostly likely leather, piece of clothing, “I lost my arm to the current hysteria sweeping the settlements. Can’t say it measures up to the scar on your face, but it’s pretty damn annoying to live with.”

Issho wanted to somehow correct his companion; while a person’s experiences were subjective, it was unhealthy to compare one individual’s pain to another’s. He had learned to live the life that he found most fulfilling, without the aid of his sight, but he understood that not all people could find that same contentment. And, despite the fact that he felt as if he could do something to change this, Issho knew it was wrong to force people to face their own demons before they were ready to do so.

He instead chose to prolong the amicable back and forth they had fallen into, “It is sad that so many people have chosen to turn against their fellow human being in pursuit of something they may never attain in light of the suffering they have caused others. For them to take the words of an empathetic and compassionate creator, crafting them into a smiting blade which they are, in many ways, unfit to wield.” Such language over the already taboo topic would have most likely seen him thrown in a cell in any other company, Issho didn’t doubt the weight of his words.

“You can say that again,” Z agreed, amusement still colouring his voice. “I wouldn’t trust half the people in this village to hold a dagger properly, let alone the power to end a person’s life.”

It had to be said that oftentimes the former also meant that a person held possession over the latter. Issho understood the deeper meaning of Z’s words. Crowd mentality and the stigmas towards the spiritual were a monstrously dark cocktail that had unfortunately gotten many drunk on its powerful hold. Once wonderful homesteads turned into suffocating cages of heresy and social slander.

“Perhaps it is time for a change of scenery then,” Issho suggested, hoping that the man in front of him would escape his own prison.

\---

It had been a month since Issho had found himself a travelling companion.

The week after they had set out from Z’s village had been filled with awkward conversation where they fumbled into a rhythm. Issho had learned more about Z’s life before their meeting; he was a skilled hunter that took no joy in killing things which he deemed as innocent. Alongside this, his moral compass was set very firmly towards considering those who fueled the ‘witch hunts’ as those who deserved to be killed most, hopefully using the same cruel methods they inflicted on their victims.

Issho always took note of the other man’s language. ‘Monsters’ described the Chief Justices and the villagers that joined their mobs, ‘victims’ or ‘innocents’ were those accused of witchcraft, a fake crime in Z’s eyes; Z himself fell into neither of those categories by his own admission. He was simply a man out for revenge against the man who had taken everything from him, chasing an untouchable shadow that had eventually slipped into the forest by night after setting fire to Z’s life and reducing it to ashes.

He was also a man with a past which he was set on running from, and towards, without much regard to his current self. Z wanted to be broken down on his journey to crush the poisoned morals of the Chief Justice who had taken the lives of his wife and child.

That was a story Issho had been told after one of Z’s nightmares. Z had been upfront about the devils that stalked him from behind his eyelids during the daytime, watching, waiting, scheming at the base of his skull until he fell asleep. It was always the same. Z had been returning from a hunting trip when the village had cornered him and made him watch, bound by chains, as they sent ‘witches’ back to hell.

The memory of his home burning in the distance as his family screamed from within its walls was the ghost that haunted his every breath; their sanctuary, the place that existed solely to house their most precious moments, had been destroyed and pieced back together into a maliciously crafted prison. Z had also been remade that day, from a man into a shell of his former self that craved for its thirst to be quenched with the blood of his enemies.

However, Issho believed that parts of that man still existed; despite Z’s self hatred, there were still moments when he laughed, cried and felt anger like any normal man. His sense of humour, while crass for Issho’s taste in some ways, spoke of a confident and strong-willed individual that cared for those around him.

Z had once seen the good in the world, been a part of it, and Issho wondered if he would ever let himself find the light again.

He had expressed as much during their latest evening travelling in the woods, when the only thing they had to do was sit around a campfire. Z had, once again, darkly laughed at an inappropriate time - a running habit at this point in their companionship.

“Why must you insist on doing that?” Issho sighed. The question hung in the air between them after Z fell silent; the campfire’s crackle did its best to fill the void left by the end of the man’s merriment.

Then Z sighed too. In fact, the sound could be better described as an exhale of Z’s very soul, his grief, frustration and shame strewn together into a singular breath. “Because when you have been in the dark as long as I have, you sometimes find reason to smile from the shadows.”

“Then would you not find greater joy from the sun?” Issho countered with a gentle quirk of his lips.

He liked to think that Z was smiling as well when he answered, “Can’t that the light agrees with my skin.”

Issho chuckled. As he said, Z had an agreeable sense of humour. “Winter is soon approaching,” he returned. “And with the shortening of the daylight hours, the forest will truly become the home of the shadows.”

“Another change of scenery then?” Z suggested, the grin on his face shining through in his words.

“No... I think that existing in shadows for a while makes a man more humble,” Issho softly mumbled. He cast his face towards the direction of the fire, enjoying the comforting heat in contrast to the night’s biting wind, “Take yourself for example Z.”

“Oh please,” the other man spluttered. He was definitely caught by surprise at Issho’s honest compliment. “The day I call myself a ‘humble man’, is the day I become the very thing I hate...”

“A man with a positive self image?” Was interjected.

Z chuckled at that, “A liar.”

With the honesty he had displayed thus far, Issho knew that the word was ill suited for the man in front of him. Z didn’t give himself enough credit. He was much like the morning’s light breeze as it swept through the forest and glades, a presence caught between the unlit sorrowful moonsong and the sun’s midday zenith.

Truly, Z was a soft wind of a man, a…

“Zephyr.”

“What was that?” Issho asked. Z’s voice was barely distinguishable from the winds that whispered around them.

“I lied when you asked me for my name,” Z clarified before sighing. There was a shuffle, a wispy sweep of cloth, prior to the return of his voice, “There would be too many layers in my lie if I were to not tell you at least that.”

Issho didn’t know what to say. Zephyr had extended, yet another, hand towards him. For a man who claimed that his heart was closed forevermore, he was willing to take the first step into the realm of another’s compassion.

And who was Issho to not take that hand.

**Author's Note:**

> BOOM! Classy ending!
> 
> Please tell me what you guys think in the comments.


End file.
